Sweet Caroline(34)

“Caroline, come here, to the light. Let me see this wound. You bleeding or anything?”

“Bleeding? Yes, pride, not blood.” I remove my hand as he tilts my chin toward his face and the light.

“Ooooh, big red and blue mark.”

“Tell me, Doctor, will I live?” Without making a big to-do, I stretch my foot forward, trying to kick the secret tampon holder into the shadows. Instead it slides sideways, further into the light. Forget it. I’ve known Mitch forever. Guess it’s time I realize he knows about girl needs.

“Caroline . . .” He presses his thumb lightly to my boo-boo. “You’ve got a nice bump going.”

As my face is cupped in his hands, headlights gleam against the carriage house. I look over to see J. D.’s cruiser rumbling into the Café parking lot.

“Oh, J. D.’s here.” Half shoving Mitch out of the way, grinding the tampon holder into the board with my heel, I wave to J. D. But his car doesn’t stop. Instead the engine roars to life as he peels away.





DAILY SPECIAL


Tuesday, June 26

Beans & Greens

Cornbread

Bubba’s Buttery Biscuits

Blackberry Cobbler

Mint Julep, Tea, Soda, or Coffee

$5.99


15

Mercy Bea, I’m going to try printing out nametags for the Carrington party. Call me if we get busy.”“Or if I win the lotto?” She stacks the refilled salt and pepper shakers on a tray.

“Definitely call me if you win the lotto.”

In the office, I dust off the printer, wondering if J. D. has returned one of my half dozen calls. The one time he answered last night, he was pretty upset.

“He was kissing you.”

“No, he wasn’t. I bumped my head against the porch post. He was checking out my wound.”

“I knew you weren’t over him, or him over you.”

And he hung up.

I check my cell. A message. Please be J. D., cooled off and ready to reason.

But it’s from Mitch.

“What happened with J. D.? Does he think something is going on? Should I call him? Sorry, Caroline.”

Elle is crazy to attempt relationships with more than one man at a time. I make a mental note to bring this up at our next Operation Wedding Day gathering.

With a sigh, I power up the computer, load paper in the printer, open the Word doc of Carrington family names I compiled this morning, and click Print. The printer wheezes to life and miraculously begins chugging out row after row of nametags.

Meanwhile, I check e-mail. Sheree from the Water Festival reminds me again to sign up for the raft race: Great publicity, girl. Come on.

I reply: Still thinking about it.

Wednesday at closing, Mercy Bea corners me as I sweep by the corner cubbies.

“What’d you do to the deputy? I haven’t seen him all week.”

“Misunderstanding.”She rolls her eyes. “Whatever you did, apologize.”

“What makes you think it was me?”

Mercy Bea pats my shoulder. “Fix him a nice dinner and—Wait, you don’t cook. Well, do whatever it is you do to make nice. A Café owner who don’t cook . . . mm, mm, mm. It’s a mad, mad world.”

I lost count, but I think she insulted me about five times in this exchange. “Good night, Mercy. See you tomorrow.”

“Call the boy. Do you intend on being an old maid? Don’t follow in Jones’s footsteps and never marry.”

“Mercy Bea, please, I’m a long way from . . .” Being like Jones. Aren’t I?

Broom in hand, I duck in the office and dial Bodean. He has a nice place with a few acres that is the official deputy hangout. “Do you know where J. D. might be?”

“Fred, I’m so glad you called.”

“He’s right there, isn’t he?” I drop the broom in the corner, grab my keys, and flick off the office light.

“10-4.”

“Is he mad?”

“What? Your car broke down?”Oh my stars. This is stupid. “Bodean, just put him on.” I lock up the Café and beeline toward the Mustang.

“Sure, that’d be great. Just come on over. A bunch of us are hanging out.”

Okay, so this has to be face-to-face. “See you in a few.”

When I park next to J.D.’s blue Ford F-250, I hesitate before getting out. Upon reconsideration, this is an astronomically stupid idea. What if he rejects me when I walk in? In front of his buddies?

I wipe my palms down the side of my skirt, debating. Never mind I’m not at my best, still wearing my work clothes and clogs. I didn’t even think to change. As a matter of fact, I don’t even have my driver’s license.

Sneaking a fast peek in the rearview mirror, I grimace at my shiny face and tangled hair before giving my underarms a quick sniff. Secret is working as advertised.

I fluff my hair, adjust my top and bra—everything is contained—and head for the house.

“Hello?” I call weakly, shoving open the front door. Shouts echo from the back room. “Bodean?”

The slender but wide-shouldered deputy comes around the corner. His blond hair sticks out in all directions. “Caroline, hey, what are you doing here?”

I exhale, grinning. “So not fooling anyone, Bo.”